---- Chapter 12 Killian POV: Dallas, completely misreading the glacial fury in my eyes, saw my smile and preened. She stepped closer, her hand still resting protectively on her stomach, her expression shifting from fear to smug entitlement. "Of course," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Now you have to get rid of that pathetic diner girl for good. | won't have my child growing up with her shadow hanging over us. My smile widened. And then | moved. In one swift motion, | grabbed a fistful of her expensive blonde hair and slammed her head against the marble wall. The sound was a sickening crack, followed by a choked gasp of pain. Her eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, stared at me. A thin trickle of blood began to seep from her hairline, staining the pristine white wallpaper. "Killy.. what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice trembling. "You're pregnant?" she shrieked, her hands flying to her stomach. "I'm carrying your child!" ---- A harsh, grating laugh escaped my lips. "My child?" | sneered, my face inches from hers. "Did | give you permission to carry my child? Did | say you were worthy?" Her face crumpled, the terror finally dawning. This wasn't the besotted billionaire she had so easily manipulated. This was the monster from the foster system, the one who had clawed his way to the top over the broken bodies of his enemies. "There is only one woman in this world who will ever carry my child," | hissed, my voice a low, venomous growl. "And her name is Emily Ramos." | tightened my grip on her hair, yanking her head back. "As for you... you won't be carrying anything but the consequences of your actions." She began to struggle, to scream, but the sound was pathetic, weak. She was a paper tiger, all claws and no substance. "No... please, Killian," she begged, the tears streaming down her face now real, born of pure terror. "| love you!" "Love?" | spat the word out like it was poison. "You don't know the meaning of the word." With a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, | shoved her away from me. She stumbled backward, lost her footing on the slick marble floor, and fell. Her scream was cut short as she landed hard at the bottom of the staircase. | didn't offer a hand. | didn't call for a doctor. | simply watched as a dark, crimson stain began to spread across the back of ---- her designer white dress. The child-if there ever was one-was gone. A cruel, satisfied smile touched my lips. "You wanted to know what it's like to be stepped on," | said, my voice calm and conversational as | walked down the stairs towards her whimpering form. "Now you're going to find out. You're going to learn what it means to be worthless." | snapped my fingers. Two of my bodyguards, who had been waiting silently in the foyer, stepped forward. "Take her to the basement," | ordered. "Make sure she understands the full scope of her mistake." Dallas began to scream then, a raw, animal sound of pure terror. "No! Killian, don't do this! Please!" They grabbed her arms, dragging her across the floor. Her carefully constructed facade shattered completely, replaced by the snarling, vicious creature she truly was. "You bastard! You'll never get her back! She'll hate you forever! You killed her brother just as much as | did! You're the real monster!" Her final words echoed in the cavernous hall as the heavy basement door slammed shut, cutting off her screams. You're the real monster. She was right. | turned away from the door, a cold, heavy certainty settling in ---- my gut. | had been a fool, a monster, a villain. | had broken the one person who mattered, shattered the only pure thing in my life. | walked into my study, the room where | had built my empire, and felt nothing but emptiness. | had all the power in the world, but it was worthless without her. | sat down at my desk and opened my laptop. | started typing, initiating a worldwide search, deploying every resource at my disposal. Hackers, private investigators, satellite tracking. | would burn my entire fortune to the ground if that's what it took. | would find Emily. And | would spend the rest of my life, no matter how long or how painful, earning my way back from the hell | had created. Three days later, a private jet touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. The pre-dawn air was cold and damp, a stark contrast to the burning fire of obsession in my soul. | was coming for you, Emily. And this time, | wouldn't let anything, or anyone, get in my way.